


kevlar

by amiphobic



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Bechloe Week 2015, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-10 10:41:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4388675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amiphobic/pseuds/amiphobic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series of unrelated one-shots for Bechloe Week 2015.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 2. Celebration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I have not seen PP2 yet (because I foolishly honor my promises), so quite a bit is canon non-compliant despite being set in the canon universe.

**_celebrations_ **

**_(or: the four times Chloe doesn’t get it right and the one time she does.)_ **

* * *

 

1.

And she kisses him.

Chloe watches, and nothing happens – nothing as cliché as her stomach dropping or her throat closing up or her eyes welling with unshed tears or her chest aching or-

The point is, simply: Beca kisses Jesse – in celebration – and Chloe watches.

Maybe there’s fireworks going off in their heads or pure adrenaline running in their veins or a warmth spreading from their lips to their toes or applause from the depths of their guts-

The point is, simply: this is a celebration, a victory, a moment of grand triumph.

And very appropriately, Beca kisses Jesse for the first time (and Chloe pretends not to notice.)

* * *

2.

Chloe flies in from San Diego to attend the graduation of Ashley, Beca, Benji, Cynthia Rose, Denise, Fat Amy, Jesse, Jessica, Lilly, and Stacie – which Aubrey had helpfully alphabetized for her. There’s streamers, alcoholic punch, graduation robes and caps, cameramen, canvas tents, and party busses lined down the street.

Three hours in, Beca’s had maybe a few too many, leaning easily into Chloe’s side. The sounds of her thick laughter fill Chloe’s right ear pleasantly, and the smooth of Beca’s palm against her arm is steadying and dizzying all at once. Her chest swells with the comforting motion, brimming and heavy like she’s finally had her fill.

“I miss this,” Beca admits in her endearing honest-when-drunk way.

“I miss it, too,” Chloe says, all sappy grins and roaming hands. “Just having everyone together like this.”

“Oh, that’s whatever,” Beca says. “I meant you and me. Together. Having fun. You know.”

No, her heart doesn’t soar, doesn’t jump, doesn’t skip, but-

“I miss it too! Like, so much. You’re pretty much my best friend, you know?”

Beca smiles, and Chloe watches.

It’s been over four years since Chloe first caught sight of the tiny alt girl with her air of awkwardly feigned disinterest. She’d caught sight and hadn’t let go. Still hasn’t let go. Can’t seem to convince herself to let go, fingers all curled and digging in – (not) knowing (if) she wants the indents to fade (or gain permanence.)

“Well, we’ll be a lot closer to each other now,” Beca says, reaching over for another shot of cheaply bought vodka. Chloe stifles an inhale (and works to forget the deep and earthy scent of Beca. Works to forget how it reminds her of soft soil spilling into the cracks of the pavement – how easy it is to feel at home at this proximity.) Hair curtaining Chloe’s face gently, Beca continues, “You should come down and visit Jesse and me some time.”

(That is as effective as any mental attempt, and) Chloe snaps back to attention – (back to the reality of the word ‘one-sided’).

Taking a shaky breath, Chloe asks, “So, you decided then? The two of you are gonna move in together?”

“Yep.”

Chloe whistles lowly.

(It takes all of her energy but she does it.)

“I know,” Beca says. “Big decision. I mean we’ve been together forever. It’s time, right? Like it’d be ridiculous not to.”

“Totes.”

“Totes,” Beca echoes.

(And then Chloe does something awful.)

“Actually,” she says, “not totes. The opposite of totes. Don’t do anything you don’t want to. There’s no timeline on love or relationships.”

(It’s low and underhanded – and she twists the words until) it’s about concern and empowering Beca’s individuality.

(Feeling faintly sick), Chloe continues, “Look at me.”

“I’m looking.”

That pulls a laugh from her throat, (cracked and full of feeling).

“I’m nowhere. I mean, I’m dating three different guys right now,” Chloe says. “Have been for several months now. There’s no timeline. Do what feels right to you.”

“Three? We need to catch up,” Beca chuckles.

“Ah, they aren’t serious. Really. Nothing to write home about.”

“Hm.” Beca downs her shot. Grimacing against the harsh taste, she just manages, “Why is that?”

“Because they aren’t-“

(Chloe bites the inside of her cheek.)

“They aren’t…?” Beca prompts, head returning to its place on Chloe’s shoulder. In return, Chloe rests her temple atop Beca’s head.

“They just aren’t.”

“What, serious?”

“Sure,” Chloe says. “It’s just harmless fun. They’re not… fixtures.”

“Fixtures,” Beca repeats, eyebrows furrowing.

“I don’t look at them and think about the future.”

“Because they’re not serious. Or fixtures.”

Chloe laughs.

“Right. They’re not (you).”

* * *

Miraculously they’re able to find their way back to the main hall of the party where things are in full swing. Beca’s incredibly touchy still, hands curling around Chloe’s arm, then her back, then her waist.

Chloe doesn’t (let herself) feel any which way about it.

“Becaw!”

And just like that she’s gone, transferred to Jesse’s arm.

Beca and Jesse share a tender moment, drawing exasperated but somehow admiring aw’s from several nearby onlookers. They kiss – a brief peck, no more than a second long.

Chloe looks (away) and smiles (for her own sanity).

* * *

3.

“Chloe,” Beca greets with a slow smile – the one where the right corner of her lips lift and her eyes soften and crinkle. (The one that makes Chloe’s heart slow with it until the world’s rotation slows too – there’s no movement, only an eternity of Beca smiling and Chloe watching.)

Closing the physical distance, Chloe wraps Beca into her arms tightly and thinks that maybe all other distances are bridged in that moment too.

“Where’s Jesse? I brought him a congratulations gift,” Chloe says with a (forced) cheeriness that no one can rival. She offers up a small box, light (but burdening) in her hand.

“You really didn’t have to,” Beca says. “Honestly, getting you to attend this dumb party is a gift enough.”

“Dumb? I thought Jesse got nominated for his score or-“

“Yeah, yeah,” Beca waves it off. “But we’re on the rocks so it’s all dumb.”

“Oh,” Chloe says, (trying for) clearly disappointed (but her success doesn’t sweeten the moment). “Wanna grab a couple of martinis and talk about it somewhere quieter?”

“Dude. Read my mind,” Beca says, casually jostling Chloe’s arm as she leads her away. “But maybe something a lot stronger.”

* * *

“So,” Chloe starts, sitting against Beca’s desk, careful not to bump any of her music equipment. “Tell me what I’ve missed out on.”

It’s what she’s supposed to be. The support – a fading brick wall to lean on, a strong shoulder to rest on, two hands anchoring them both down. And she can do that (but for how much longer?)

“Nah,” Beca says. “Depressing as shit stuff. I want to hear about your crazy world-trekking life first. And your latest arm candy – Killian, was it?”

Chloe throws a self-deprecating grin at Beca and says, “I just flew in from Quebec yesterday. Before that, let’s see, I was in Morocco, Venice, Tibet, and uh- Lisbon. And as for Killian – good memory – he’s been replaced with Karli.”

“You’ve really been everywhere lately,” Beca says, admiringly.

“Absolutely,” Chloe says, “and loving it.”

“Tell me about this Karli,” Beca says, leaning forward in exaggerated interest.

“She’s hot. Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“She’s a choreographer, late twenties, moves like the world is her stage, honestly.”

“So is she the one who’s going to tame the infamous Chloe Beale?” Beca teases.

“Probably not,” Chloe says with a good-humored laugh. “No one’s taming this girl (but maybe you could).”

“Love’s got no timeline,” Beca says, echoing Chloe’s sentiments from three years earlier. “And you’ve got places to be and articles to write.”

“Enough deflecting. What’s going on with you and Jesse?”

Beca sighs, deflating.

(It’s all wrong but Chloe feels her repressed hope surge. Pushing it down feels like drowning, like she’s no longer capable of staying afloat.)

“We just argue over everything. Every little fucking thing,” Beca says, knuckles white as she grips her scotch glass tightly. “I’m so tired of it all. So, we’re on a break now. But I think…”

Chloe waits as Beca downs her drink, wincing as it rushes through her system. Picking at the corner of the teak desk, Chloe swallows (her hot impatience and focuses on stilling her shaking fingers).

“I think I’m only still with him because it’s been so long,” Beca finally says quietly. “I can’t imagine having to rebuild this kind of relationship. Just can’t quit when we’ve labored over this trust, this… intimacy for so long.”

(Words bubble underneath Chloe’s tongue, boiling and scorching, but she lets them sear. What can she tell Beca? That she’s had the planks and nails and toolbox all set aside, wanting to add a new wing to the cozy house they already have? That she’s no carpenter, never has been, but she’s willing to learn the craft? No, those are words better left in the safety of silence.)

“You know?” Beca says, mouth twisting forlornly.

She turns to Chloe and all of a sudden they are (too) close. And Chloe takes in the moment, (wholly and greedily).

Beca – pale and exhausted, frail and posture slightly hunched, cheeks colored. (Still, Chloe’s throat constricts and there is not enough oxygen in the world to help her.)

Then, Beca whispers, “Hey.”

A curving smile – sloped with affection – slides into place, and Chloe matches it, (caught up in the way it makes her feel).

And then Beca leans- or Chloe leans- or they lean-

Their lips brush so lightly that maybe it doesn’t happen at all.

But it does.

Beca inhales sharply, and it’s over, Chloe’s breath escaping and finding solace in Beca.

“Sorry,” Beca mumbles. “Guess this stuff is stronger than I thought.”

“I-“ Chloe’s voice halts and dies. “It’s okay. I just-“

All her parenthesis and edits can’t save her now.

“It’s fine,” Beca chuckles, “we’ve both had too much tonight.”

This isn’t something Chloe can let go – can brush off like Beca is doing. Seven years she’s watched, shrugging it off, trapping her words and thoughts in strikethroughs.

“Is that what that was?”

“I didn’t mean to. Sorry if it’s weirded you out. This Jesse stuff just has me all mixed up.”

“So, there’s nothing here then?” Chloe presses further.

Surprised, Beca raises her eyebrows, eyes widening with the motion, and says, “I never thought about us that way. Did… did you?”

“You and Aubrey are my best friends,” Chloe says and the truth hammers hard in her throat. “But… you’ve always been different for me, Beca.”

“Oh.”

It’s a single exhale – quiet and tender like she doesn’t want the realization to break anything here.

“I never said anything because all I want is for you to be happy,” Chloe says, nails piercing the wood a little harder. “And I thought you were happy with Jesse.”

“Sometimes,” Beca says. “Honestly, I don’t know what there is between us, Chloe. I’m still all tangled up with Jesse, I can’t even think about looking for something new.”

“You don’t have to explain,” Chloe says, hand settling over Beca’s. “I understand.”

“Let’s rejoin the stuffy music people in the parlor,” Beca says, standing abruptly. “You can entertain them with your stories of interviewing the upper echelons of society while you scaled a mountain or went sky-diving without a parachute or whatever crazy thing it is you decided to do this time.”

Chloe laughs.

(And laughs and laughs.)

* * *

Later, much later, the party begins to wind down. Guests file to gather their coats and leave behind a handshake and a farewell. Chloe is among the last remaining, having had the misfortune of being caught in an intensely uncomfortable conversation with a rabbi and a police officer – which unfortunately had not been a set-up for any sort of joke – for an hour longer than she’d wanted.

Ducking her head to retrieve her overcoat, Chloe catches sight of Beca and Jesse through her eyelashes, huddled in the corner, exchanging words. Though Beca’s posture is defensive, arms crossed and distance maintained, her expression is soft and open. She nods once, really listening to Jesse’s hushed assurances, and he lays his palm on her shoulder.

Finally, the line of Beca’s mouth splits into a smile Chloe’s never seen, (never catalogued). It’s imperfect, all crooked with the tips of her teeth showing, but Chloe bears witness and feels nothing. Nothing at all.

Jesse presses an apology in the form of a delicate kiss to her forehead, and Beca’s arms wrap around his back, nestled and secure. It’s a private moment, and Chloe feels like a thief, dirty with the desire for this to have been hers.

He bestows another kiss, this time to her lips – the same ones that were pressed against Chloe’s not two hours ago.

Heart hewn in half, Chloe exits without so much as a glance backwards.

(Maybe she can’t help one last glimpse. Maybe she sees happiness leak from their eyes. Maybe she moves on.)

(Maybe she doesn’t.)

* * *

4.

Pen tip digging into the paper, Chloe strikes the words, deep rifts marking the pages beneath. The phrases are all off – too long, too short, too awkward, too clunky.

“Who would’ve thought you’d be the workaholic out of the two of us?” Aubrey jokes, skin tanned a beautiful golden to contrast the sheer blonde hair that hangs over her shoulders freely.

The past decade has been kind to her, gifting her with an ethereal glow to be paired with her long-standing beauty. Her presence brings a peace to Chloe’s core. (If not for Aubrey’s attendance, it’s questionable if Chloe would’ve dropped the Brazil piece for this event.)

“Magazines don’t release themselves,” Chloe says, tongue clicking in a teasing reprimand.

“And you only get a ten-year reunion once in your lifetime,” Aubrey reminds her.

“Fine, fine,” Chloe says and relinquishes command of her notepad and laptop.

“Why’re you hiding back here anyway? And don’t feed me crap about your deadline.”

“Hiding? Do you even know me?” Chloe laughs as she packs up.

The two women enter the simple lobby where the rest of the 2012 Bellas are fooling around. Denise beans Ashley with a purse – playfully, Chloe assumes – as Lilly whispers freaky things to an unperturbed Stacie.

“Too well,” Aubrey answers, gaze fixated on a particular brunette across the room.

Chloe follows her line of sight and tries to keep the hollowness in her chest hidden.

“I’ve never seen you so stuck on anything in your life,” Aubrey says coolly but not unkindly.

“There hasn’t been a single day where I haven’t tried to move on,” Chloe says a little defensively.

“I was right. All she did was bring us trouble.”

“Aubrey,” Chloe says, faux stern, “she’s your friend too.”

“Supposedly,” Aubrey dismisses lightly.

“If it isn’t our fearless leaders,” Cynthia-Rose interjects, pulling the two of them into a loose hug.

“It’s been way too long,” Chloe gushes, fingers running affectionately through Cynthia-Rose’s short purple hair.

Cynthia-Rose jerks her head towards the stage where a band is setting up. “You guys know what that’s about?”

“Oh, I hope it’s not another one of Fat Amy’s stand-up routines,” Aubrey says.

“It’s not.” Jessica bounces up and leans in to whisper conspiratorially, “I saw Jesse in the back!”

(Chloe’s heart bottoms out.)

“I forgot, I have to call-“ Chloe begins, delving into her list of excuses.

But she’s too slow.

Jesse walks onto the platform, boyish grin adorning his face, and grabs the microphone as the music starts up. As the bassist strums a steady beat, Jesse croons a sappy 80’s pop song, Benji and Unicycle to the side providing back-up. He dances up and down the stage, his feet never still, and Beca watches, embarrassedly amused.

Aubrey’s hand rests against Chloe’s lower back, (and it might just be the only thing holding her up).

The whining guitar riff wanes, and Benji passes Jesse a small velvet box. Jesse kneels, and the Bellas squeal.

Mouth quirked up – sincere and smitten – he proposes.

“Grow old with me? There’s nothing I would like more. And no one who I could better share my life with.”

Beca’s answer has never been a mystery. Chloe thinks back to their ICCA win – back to their first kiss – and she can finally see the inevitable trajectory. Point A was only ever going to lead to Point B. Point C was never even a side-trip.

“Fine. Whatever. You’re so dumb,” Beca laughs and lets him slip the ring on her finger.

“Chloe?” Aubrey prompts hesitantly.

“I’m fine,” Chloe responds, her words muted and mind cold.

* * *

There’s nothing beautiful in her heartbreak; nothing poetic about how her chest cracks open and her breaths come shallowly; nothing romantic in the way she strains the back of her hand against her mouth; nothing melodic or lyrical about how she can’t seem to manage to keep her anguish at bay.

These ten years haven’t been glamorous.

And she feels stupid for it.

She’s marveled at the unending stone of the Great Wall, felt the cool spray of Niagara Falls on her burnt skin, drank fine Merlot atop the Eiffel Tower as the sun set. And still, she’d wanted to come home to Beca.

But Chloe’s lived. And it’ll be enough one day.

* * *

5.

Chloe sips her milk tea, savoring the tapioca pearls yielding under her teeth. She spreads the cheap Taiwanese knockoff magazine open on the table in front of her – flattening the pages.

_Jesse Swanson and long-time girlfriend Rebecca Mitchell finally tie the knot in a gorgeous private ceremony! Not a dry eye could be found in the entirety of the outdoor grounds as the talented couple read their vows aloud. We wish them great happiness and fortune in their marriage._

Standing, Chloe leaves the tea stand, magazine forgotten and flapping on the table.

* * *

_Aubrey Posen calling…_

Briefly, Chloe considers not answering, but three rings in and she decides it’s not worth the hassle of the harshly worded texts that are no doubt to follow. Swiping right, she holds the phone up to her ear and waits for the reprimand or demand.

Instead, a long-suffering sigh echoes over the call.

“You’re up late,” Chloe notes.

“ _It’s the first time I’ve had to breathe all week_ ,” Aubrey says. “ _The wedding last weekend and then quarterly reports this week._

“You work too hard.”

“ _Looks who’s talking. Missing your best friend’s wedding to do an extensive piece on Yifa? At least that’s the bullshit Beca regurgitated.”_

“You’re my best friend, Aubrey,” Chloe says facetiously. “And unless you’re not telling me something-“

“ _Cute. But no amount of distracting will deter me._ ”

“Deter you from what?”

“ _Really, Chloe? Where the hell were you? And why the fuck didn’t Beca skin you alive?”_

Picking at her nails, Chloe thinks of the wedding invitation on her coffee table, still unopened. She remembers the golden flowing script on the envelope, elegant and celebratory.

“You know why,” she finally replies.

“ _Right. I guess we all just assumed you’d be there._ ”

“I e-mailed her before declining,” Chloe says. “She was disappointed and hurt. But she said she understood.”

“ _I won’t blame her if she never forgives you.”_

“A girl can only be so much of a masochist before she wonders if there’s better alternatives,” Chloe says tiredly. “And this is my alternative.”

“ _Running away?”_

“She’s happy, Aubrey,” Chloe says. “Now it’s time for me to be as well.”

And it’s the only truth Chloe can be sure of: that her house with Beca was never a home.

So now she’ll have to make her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am no longer as young as I once was, so this go around I won't be writing for every single prompt. Thank you so much for reading - I always appreciate it beyond words. Leave a comment if you so desire to.
> 
> And I promise the following one-shots will feature a lot less angst. I was persuaded (bullied) into this. See you in two days~


	2. 4. 3 AM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with 100% less angst.

_February 3 rd – 3:21 AM_

“What the fuck?” Beca kicks the base of the dryer none too gently.

And alright, abusing non-sentient objects isn’t her usual modus operandi in regards to laundry, but it’s been a trying week, full of tedious readings and obnoxious classmates and bad weather and one commandeering Aubrey Posen.

And now. Now…

Now this. Fucking this.

Someone’s left their pile of already dried clothes inside the machine – for several hours in the very least by the looks of it. The second dryer is ‘out of order’ after some dumbass decided to try and cycle his soaked canvas tent through the thing just a few days ago. Meanwhile, the third is currently in use with 24 minutes remaining on the cycle.

It’s 3 am and all Beca wants to do is sleep.

“Just pile their stuff on top.”

Enter: Chloe Beale – fantastically attractive, quietly talented, and sweet enough to make Beca’s teeth ache.

Sweeping red hair, clear blue eyes, and Beca almost (keyword: almost) forgets her frustration.

“People forget their clothes all the time,” Chloe continues, checking the washers one by one.

“Yeah, well,” Beca says, bending to look inside dryer #1. “I’m not too hot on touching some stranger’s pink thong.”

“What about my pink thong?” Chloe teases playfully.

At least, Beca thinks it’s just teasing. But who can tell with Chloe? While she’s certainly seen the other woman undressed, she’s never seen her _undressing_ -

Beca shakes the mental image off and laughs nervously.

“Here, I’ll help you,” Chloe offers, setting her dark blue laundry bag aside momentarily. “I’ve had _lots_ of experience with touching people’s intimates.”

“Well,” Beca says, swallowing hard, “I’m glad I have such an expert with me.”

“They should really change RA to RE – residential expert.”

“You’re an RA?”

“Was. Lerbert Hall, sophomore year,” Chloe says absently as she moves the dryer’s contents to the nearby table.

“Why would anyone do that?”

“I like people.”

Beca raises an eyebrow dubiously.

“I do,” Chloe defends with a sheepish grin. “Also free housing and a single room.”

“Doesn’t seem worth it,” Beca says, finally stooping to help Chloe.

“Well, I had fun.”

“What, did you confront your residents in the shower too?”

Chloe’s wink is her only response.

“What are you doing here anyway?” Beca asks, subtly changing the topic (though subtle might be overselling herself here).

“My hall shares Laundry with yours, didn’t you know?”

“No, I knew that. I meant like, why are you doing your laundry at 3 in the morning? Weirdo.”

“Same reason you’re here probably,” Chloe says, flinging the last of the other person’s clothing to the side.

“You’re also terrible at being an adult?”

“Precisely.”

Beca pushes back a grudging smile.

“Well… thanks for your help,” she says.

“Anything for a fellow Bella.”

Hurriedly, Beca gathers her wet clothing and tosses it into the now empty machine.

“See you at practice tomorrow,” Beca says, hands twisting in her shirt awkwardly.

“Later today you mean,” Chloe says cheekily.

“Right,” Beca says with an inclining nod. “Later.”

She flees like it’s the scene of a (blameless, victimless) crime.

* * *

_February 25 th – 2:51 AM_

Beca’s not sure what she expects. Certainly not Chloe Beale – again – and certainly not Chloe Beale singing.

Laundry is laundry. You go in, slam-dunk your clothes and detergent into the washer, and you’re out again. Twenty-five minutes later, you transfer your dripping shirts and jeans to the dryer, throw a fabric softener sheet in, and you’re out again. An hour passes and you return one last time to this special sort of hell to get your belongings, and you’re out – for a couple of weeks in the very least.

The process definitely does not involve hanging around and singing.

It’s a transposed version of some Bruno Mars song, and Beca finds a soft smile rising unbidden across her lips.

“Nerd,” Beca says, faux disparaging, as she passes by the table that Chloe’s set up at. From the looks of her laptop, she’s busy watching some TV show.

“You stalking me, Mitchell?”

“Excuse me, ridiculously late laundry is my thing,” Beca says, clutching her hand to her chest in a show of offense.

“Pretty sure that’s something that’s been happening since the dawn of time,” Chloe says, pausing her show and turning her full attention to Beca.

“Well, I brought it into the modern age. I’m an innovator, if you will.” Beca pours out a cup of Tide before unceremoniously upending it into the washer.

“Really? Seems you’re doing it all a bit quick and dirty,” Chloe says with an outrageous smirk and outlandish wink.

“I am not,” Beca sputters, desperately trying to keep the red from her cheeks. “I’m… thorough and clean. Pristinely so.”

“I’m watching you literally hurl your multitude of black skinny jeans halfway across the room.”

“Innovation. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Please. Laundry is an artform. You’re sullying it with your cheap attempts,” Chloe says, standing abruptly.

By the time Beca’s turned towards her, Chloe’s only two feet away.

“May I?” Chloe asks, pointing at Beca’s plastic hamper.

“ _Now_ you ask for permission,” Beca mutters under her breath as she moves aside.

“One does not simply dump the detergent in,” Chloe says, nose upturned and tone pompous. “You disseminate it in a circular motion. The resulting blue rings will be shaky and uneven, but the imperfection is part of the experience.”

Amused, Beca gestures, “Please, continue.”

“Your vulgar stuffing merely reveals how uncultured you are,” Chloe sniffs, admirably keeping the joke going. “You must treat each item of clothing as an extension of self, like this.”

Delicately, Chloe picks up one of Beca’s old Evanescence tees – black with white paint spattered liberally across the front – and unfurls it.

“Feel it flow under your fingertips,” Chloe says. “You try.”

“Right,” Beca says, shaking her head but playing along anyway.

Chloe positions herself behind Beca, chest pressed to Beca’s back, arms framing Beca’s.

“Savor the feel of the cloth in your hands,” Chloe says, guiding Beca’s hands to the shirt. “Feel it?”

Clearing her throat, Beca tries to hide what effect those words are actually having on her. She nods once.

“Now arrange it – carefully – around the center of the washing machine, fill in the emptiness of your canvas,” Chloe hushes into Beca’s ear.

It’s ridiculous. The whole thing is batshit insane. Beca’s got a crazy redhead crooning about _laundry_ of all things, and it’s still somehow the sexiest situation she’s ever gotten herself into.

“You got it?”

“Yeah,” Beca’s voice cracks at the end – embarrassingly. “Thanks for your uh tutelage.”

“No problem,” Chloe says, brushing across Beca’s back as she moves away. “Happy to educate.”

As Chloe settles back behind her laptop and hits the spacebar to start off where she left off with Suits, Beca clenches her fist tightly.

When Beca returns half an hour later for the drying portion, Chloe’s already gone.

She tells herself the sinking feeling in her stomach isn’t disappointment.

* * *

_March 17 th – 3:05 AM_

“No way,” Beca says, incredulous. “Do you come down here every night just waiting for me?”

“I swear I don’t,” Chloe laughs, tucking her mechanical pencil behind one ear, turning to face Beca.

“Well, we’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Beca jokes. “We see each other enough at practices.”

“You ready for the competish this weekend?”

“I got a bad feeling,” Beca admits. “The songs we’re singing. They’re tired and everyone but Aubrey knows it.”

“Winning this just means a lot to her,” Chloe says, propping her feet on top of the table surface. Though Beca’s eyes begin to stray along the length of Chloe’s legs, she forces herself to focus on the white machinery’s marked surface.

“Yeah, that’s pretty clear.”

“Don’t hold it against her. The former Bella captain was a…” Her usual cheerful expression falters, eyes stuttering in their brightness.

“Dick?”

Chloe cracks a smile.

“To put it mildly.”

“You’re not going to criticize my laundering technique again, are you?”

Raising an eyebrow, Chloe replies, “Depends on if it’s the criminal sort or not. Though your washing technique is practically criminal.”

“Hilarious.”

* * *

_April 10 th – 3:38 AM_

Following the fallout with the Bellas, Beca tries her very best to avoid 3 am laundry and whatever too-comfortable routine she’d fallen into with Chloe. But her time management skills have never been competent, nor her clean to dirty clothing ratio, sustainable.

In and out. A minute flat. That’s the plan.

“Beca,” Chloe greets like the events of the semi-final never happened, like they haven’t been on Spring Break for the past week and a half.

Tight-lipped, Beca stuffs her clothing into the washer extra forcefully – maybe a bit immature in her execution.

“Chloe,” she finally acknowledges curtly.

And that’s the end of that.

(Usually sparkling eyes dull, and Beca definitely does not notice.)

* * *

_April 28 th – 2:49 AM_

“Beca.”

“Chloe.”

* * *

_May 5 th – 3:36 AM_

“Beca.”

Beca gives in to the wide grin that splits her mouth open.

“Chloe.”

“You’re doing your laundry all wrong again.”

“Right,” Beca shakes her head, ducking to hide her idiotic smile. “I uh never thanked you for inviting me back.”

“No problem,” Chloe says, leaning against the table nonchalantly. “We are better with you, after all.”

“Seriously,” Beca says, dropping her task for the moment. “Thanks for everything. Without you, I would’ve never joined the Bellas. And I mean… you took on Aubrey.”

“All in a day’s work.”

“Your graduation date coming up? Nervous?”

Chloe stifles a yawn and says, “Nothing compared to competing in the aca-finals.”

“Right,” Beca says and sets the washer for a regular cycle.

Seemingly content with the silence, Chloe watches Beca intently, saying nothing.

“So…” Beca trails off.

“So.”

“So…?”

The corner of Chloe’s mouth quirks up.

“I don’t think you’ve learned how to do laundry properly yet.”

“Are you still stuck on that? My clothes are always pretty damn clean regardless.”

“Let a girl flirt, will you?”

Beca freezes, brain whirling to come up with a response.

Chloe crosses her arms, clearly waiting.

“Uh.” Beca’s coming up short and can only say, “Laundry is the least sexy thing in the world, you know that, right?”

“Really?” Chloe challenges, hands bracketing Beca’s waist and maneuvering her against the nearby machinery.

Instinctively, Beca’s arm straightens backwards to the surface of the washer to brace her body. Heart hammering, Beca has a million questions on the tip of her tongue – none of which come close to any sort of coherence even in her mind.

“May I?” Chloe asks, eyes flickering down to Beca’s slightly parted lips, intent clear.

Though Beca opens her mouth, no answer comes out. The moment is entirely too much.

Dumbly, she nods instead.

Then Chloe’s lips are slanted over her own in a rush of heat and tenderness. A firm hand against Beca’s back steadies them both as Chloe pushes forward tentatively.

“Wait,” Beca says, breaking the kiss.

Chloe withdraws partially, concern overtaking her expression.

“We cannot tell anyone that we started dating over laundry. At 3 AM.”

“Dating?” Chloe says, regular jovial attitude returning through the relief. “Who said anything about dating? Getting ahead of yourself, Mitchell.”

“Weirdo,” Beca says affectionately, leaning in for another kiss, just as sweet – but this time it doesn’t end until long after the machine cycle beeps its end.

(Apparently some things are more important than laundry – even to Chloe Beale.)

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though I am aware of the Chloe intentionally failing four years in a row - within the past 2 days I still have not seen PP2, so I elected to ignore it~
> 
> See you in two(ish) days. Sorry for the delay. Though I'd like to say I cleverly waited till 3 AM my time, alas, this was an accident of procrastination.


End file.
